


The Witchin' Hours

by kubotits



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kubotits/pseuds/kubotits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madoka dresses as a witch for Halloween and Homura judges her for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witchin' Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 10/31/12 on Tumblr. Original notes: At first, I’d drabbled all over myself, and then it got…longer than I expected. I always do this; I’m far too verbose for my own good.  
> Uhh, just pretend this is somehow possible in the great scheme of things: that Homura and Madoka would be magical girlfriends and happen to have the opportunity to participate in Halloween festivities. Different time-stream, AU, whatever you want—shh, just roll with it. Post!Moemura, so she’s her stoic self, but Madoka’s a puella magi so…Like I said! Roll with it!

Nibbling at a potato chip that contained what she could only assume was an obscene amount of hydrogenated oil and saturated fat, Homura contemplated not only how the bag of said junk food had successfully found its way into Madoka’s room past the hawk-like eyes of her health-nut mother but how she herself came to be there. It seemed too good to be true, casually sprawled on her stomach on _Madoka’s bed_ , propped up on her elbows with her legs walking in the air and snacking like she didn’t have a care in the world. Which, at this moment, with Madoka changing into her Halloween costume out of her line of sight, she actually did for once. All she had done was mention that she didn’t have any Halloween plans and was somehow dragged to Madoka’s house. Not that she minded the dragging, of course. In fact, this was the first time Homura had been invited into Madoka’s room, at least in this time-stream. Mostly they went to her place, since there were no househusbands or little brothers to interrupt them—though Madoka tended to find the swinging pendulum a little daunting. It had been a while, but Homura remembered every stuffed animal, every trinket arranged on the shelves. Everything was in its place. Popping another potato chip into her mouth, she hummed happily.

“Okay, you can look! Look! Look, Homura-chan!” exclaimed Madoka enthusiastically as she twirled around on the tip toes, her hand firmly keeping a new, pointed hat on her head. Chips forgotten, Homura stared incredulously, blinked. Cocking her head to the side, her facial expression unchanging, she sat up and leaned back on her heels. With silent skepticism, she watched her girlfriend gesticulate excitedly at her outfit, smooth down the skirt. “Guess what I am!” She twirled once more for good measure.

Homura didn’t have to guess. “You’re…a witch.”

Indeed, she was. At least in the traditional sense: the colloquial tattered dress, pointed hat, striped stockings—certainly not the adversaries they fought each day as puella magi. In her hand, she even had a familiar in the form of a stuffed black cat that looked disturbingly similar to Kyuubey. Homura’s eyes lingered on the animal warily, as if waiting for it to spring to life and pounce.

Madoka walked toward her with a jump in her step and a smile on her lips before reaching out and booping Homura’s nose as she giggled, “Correct!”

Homura recoiled, wriggling her nose as if taking offense—while fighting the blush forming on her cheeks. She tried to put it gently, “Isn’t that a little…morbid?”  
“You think so?” responded Madoka sullenly, looking down at her costume choice. “I was aiming for ironic.”

Biting her lip, Homura tried her best to suppress the giggle rising in her throat, and failed miserably. How was it, no matter what they’d gone through in all their times together, Madoka always found ways to make her laugh?

Madoka’s face fell as she cried, “Aah! I said something stupid, didn’t I!”

Smiling, Homura strode towards her, wrapping her arms around her and pressing a kiss against her ear; she squirmed slightly, still not used to the intimacy they shared. Homura pulled back, keeping her hands on Madoka’s shoulders and touching her nose to hers. “No…it’s not stupid,” she assured in a whisper.

Despite her awkward reaction at Homura’s previous show of affection, a weak, “Okay,” was all she could manage before slipping her eyelids closed and moving in to meet her lips again.

“Mm!” she sounded, as if remembering something important, before breaking the kiss with a gentle push against Homura’s hip. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?” asked her reluctant girlfriend, who left her arms where they rested on Madoka’s shoulders.

“Do you have a costume?” she elucidated.

“No…” admitted Homura warily. She really wanted to keep kissing her…

“Don’t worry!” exclaimed Madoka, mistaking her reluctance for embarrassment. “I’ve got an extra!” Whirling around—away from an indignant Homura’s grasp—she pulled another, likewise witch-y costume from her closet, adding a “Ta-daa!” and looking very pleased with herself.

“Oh…” began Homura, mind reeling for polite ways for her to refuse. To her, “dressing up” was something she did on the daily—whether it was her puella magi garb or school uniform depended on the day. And as a witch? Even one so inaccurate? It was just too apt, too traumatizing, and, as she had already expressed, too morbid.

“We’ll match!” coaxed Madoka exuberantly, as if sensing how hesitant Homura was.

“Coup—” _Couple costume!?_ Homura flushed and half-expected her heart to explode like one of her homemade bombs, nodding vigorously before her brain gave her body permission.

Once changed, Homura offhandedly flipped her hair, advertising what little showmanship she had for Madoka, who clapped giddily.

“Ooh! Why don’t we braid your hair?” she suggested, sitting Homura down on her bed before pulling her fingers through her silken hair like two combs.

As if it would trigger a personality relapse into what she was when they first met, Homura stiffened at the idea of her twin braids making a reappearance. Her tenacity was not something she wanted to lose, nor her stoicism. Though Madoka had the effect of making her feel like a normal girl sometimes, she had to remain vigilant. Feeling Madoka’s hands weave her hair though, the rigidity relaxed, if only slightly. If only this once, she gave in.

“There,” said Madoka, once finished and admiring her workmanship.

However, instead of the two braids Homura had always had before, this was just one down the back. Though feeling foolish, she couldn’t help a small sigh of relief.  
“You look adorable!” gushed Madoka, taking her hands in hers and giving them a light squeeze.

Something dawned on Homura then. They were now in high school: too young for costume parties and too old for trick-or-treating even if it were a custom in Japan, which it wasn’t. “Are we going out anywhere?” she queried.

Fidgeting, Madoka looked embarrassed. “Um, well, no…unless we patrol, of course,” she confessed.

Homura narrowed her eyes. “Then…why are we dressing up?”

“I…just wanted to?” she supplied weakly, avoiding her girlfriend’s piercing gaze.

“Oh?” A coquettish grin graced Homura’s lips as she tugged at the waist of Madoka’s costume, pulling her closer to stand between her parted legs. “You wanted to dress up or you wanted me to dress up?”

Blushing, Madoka stammered, “B-both…”

Homura wondered how she could stand how cute Madoka was.


End file.
